Trust
by Pantherlily
Summary: Another Tumblr Fanfic Challenge. AU. Sherlock is looking to hire a personal assistant and John applies for the job. The prompt for the challenge is inside. No pairing. Rated 'M' for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

Another Tumblr Fanfic Challenge. The prompts were John and Sherlock in an alternate universe with handcuffs as a prop. This is what I came up with. Hope you all enjoy! One shot.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was annoyed. Going through this application process and finding the perfect personal assistant was tedious. So far he had rejected twelve interviewees today alone. He still had one left. He wasn't optimistic about it at all. Why should he? In a month, he had conducted almost a hundred interviews without as much even a potential prospect. His older brother told him it was because he had ridiculously high standards. Why should he lower his standards? The point of having the assistant was to have someone he could trust to serve _his_ needs.

John Watson wasn't sure what had possessed him to apply for this job. He was a former army doctor for God's sake. However, the pay he was getting from the military was barely enough to get by and all the jobs he had applied for in the medical field, he'd been told he was 'over qualified.' He supposed part of the allure for this position he was looking to have, was that a flat to live in would be provided. He was tired of living in a hotel. An unfamiliar voice calling his name brought him out of his thoughts.

"John Watson? You're interview starts _now_ and I hate waiting." Sherlock had stepped out his office to the waiting room. He had observed the man in silence for awhile before speaking. Not nervous. Rather calm and collected. Probably due to his military training. Focused. What would make a retired Captain of the military apply for this job? He supposed he would find out.

John looked up the man who was speaking. This was the person who could be his potential employer? It wasn't what he expected. Although, he supposed he wasn't sure what to expect. He stood up and offered his hand. "Mr. Holmes? A pleasure to meet you Sir."

Sherlock took the hand and gave a firm but short handshake. "Whether I am pleased to meet you has yet to remain to be seen. This way." He turned and walked back into his office and sat down at his large mahogany desk.

John's lips twisted in thought but he decided it was best not to reply to that. He followed after the taller man and took in the office with raised eyebrows. The walls were dark grey and lined with book shelves, but the books on the shelves were scattered helter-skelter. There was also a lack of photos and other personal effects. The desk was a mess. It had papers and various writing utensils strewn about. There was also a skull on the left corner, with a knife sticking out of it. How…charming… He sat down in the only other chair in the room quietly.

With his elbows propped up on the desk and fingers steepled under his chin, Sherlock peered at the man sitting in front of him. After a thoughtful silence he finally spoke. "I have read your file Captain. What makes you think you are qualified for this position?"

Honestly? John didn't think he was qualified at all. In fact, he hadn't expected to get an interview for this job period. "The truth is, I've been putting in a lot of applications everywhere. I was actually surprised I got a call for an interview here. The reason I applied? Well, it said in the job description a place of residence would be provided." Great. Real smooth. He was certain this was going to be the shortest interview ever.

A smirk twitched on Sherlock's lips. "That's the first honest answer I've heard all day. You're hired."

John couldn't help the surprised expression that etched his face. Huh? Hired? Well, it had definitely been a short interview but it'd gone the other direction. "Oh. Well, brilliant. When would you like to me start?"

"Well, there is one test you have to pass but I'm sure you will do fine. Be at 221B Baker street tomorrow morning. Let's say nine o'clock. Don't be late."

"Test? What sort of test?"

Sherlock smiled. "You'll just have to wait and find out."

The smile made John nervous; there was something devious about it. "Right then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Mrs. Holmes, thank you for this opportunity."

"One: Don't call me that. Sherlock is fine. And two: Don't thank me just yet." The smile returned to Sherlock's face.

John merely nodded, not sure how to reply to this strange man. He got up, shook hands with his new boss, and left the office. He walked outside and hailed a cabbie. He waited patiently but things quickly turned chaotic. It all happened so quickly, there was little to no time to react. A bag was put over his head at the same time his arms were pulled behind his back. He struggled but it didn't last long as he felt something, probably a needle, being shoved into his neck. His body went limp and his world went black.

* * *

The bag was still over his head when John regained consciousness. Despite being down one sense, he began to feel his way around to discover as much as he could about his surroundings. Handcuffs bit against his wrists when he tried to move forward. He was cuffed to a wall? It seemed likely; the surface against his hands was cold, hard and stony. The place smelled of blood and urine. A dungeon of some sort, maybe?

"Captain Watson. What makes you so special? Why you?" A voice asked and then punched the helpless man in the stomach.

A slight groan escaped his lips, but John refused to shout in pain. What was this person talking about? He wondered if this person realized that the reason he was home from the war was because he used to be prisoner of war. He hadn't talked then and all be damned if he was going to now.

"Silence. I see. How unfortunate for you. Don't you want to know why you are here?" Instead of another blow to the body, fingers traced along the former army doctor's hand.

That wasn't what he expected. Of course he wanted to know why he was here, but John was too stubborn to ask. Perhaps he could learn something, if this person kept on insisting on talking.

"More silence. If you don't start talking, I will make your time as prisoner in Afghanistan seem like a vacation. I am quite adept in the world of torture and not just the physical variety."

If this person was trying to impress or intimidate John, it wasn't working.

"Let's try this. Why did Sherlock Holmes hire you?"

What? That was what this was all about? Because he had just been hired for a job? John wasn't entirely sure why himself, but even if he did know he would never tell this bloke.

The person sighed, clearly annoyed. "So, be it." A door opened and then closed.

Apparently he was alone now. The only thing John could hear was his slightly labored breathing and the scuffing of metal against the wall.

Routine was all John knew after that point. He wasn't sure how many days had gone by, but enough he began to notice the pang of hunger and thirst for water. They wouldn't let him sleep either. Anytime he would pass out, he would be brought back to consciousness. Usually by inflicting some form of pain on his body. He was certain the only suit he owned was completely ruined by now and barely clung to his slowly thinning form. Was this how he was going to die? Chained to wall? All because he refused to talk? Not one word was ever uttered by him. Although the occasional noise of pain would be made, although that could hardly be helped.

A new question finally came, after days of torture. "You are willing to die for a man, you just only met? What kind of fool are you?"

John was barely lucid at this point and it took a moment for the words to process. He couldn't help but laugh, although it wasn't entirely sane sounding. He didn't know why he had been hired and saying as such would have been pointless at this point. It wasn't he was willing to die for Sherlock, more stubborn will. Regardless, he managed to choke out a single word. "Yes."

"Congratulation John, you passed the test."

That voice. He knew that voice. Sherlock? Test? _Test_? John found a renewed sense of strength and struggled against the chains with a scream of rage.

"I do believe you have upset him my dear brother. That isn't my problem, it is yours." The voice that had interrogated John spoke and then left the room.

Brother? What in the hell was going on here? John continued to struggle wildly but it didn't take long for him to exhaust himself in his current weak state.

"What was the point of using up what little strength you have?" Sherlock questioned, with a clear tone of annoyance. "Now I will have to help you out of here." He unlocked the handcuffs and easily supported the man that slumped into him.

John didn't have the energy to fight or yell anymore and found bliss in world of slumber.

* * *

When John woke up, his mind was foggy and it took a moment for his eyes to focus once they opened. Where was he now? He was laying on a bed, in a room cluttered with boxes and items discarded on the floor. This definitely wasn't a hospital. An I-V was hooked up to his arm, it probably continued saline solution. How long had he been out? It was impossible to know, he supposed. He sat up, ignoring the dizziness and nausea as best he could. After both passed, he yanked the I-V from his vein with a grimace. He bent his arm, to help stop the blood flow and stumbled out of the bed. Walking wasn't as easy as it usually was.

"I see you are up. You shouldn't be walking around yet though," Sherlock commented as he entered the room.

"_You!_ You did this to me!" John had meant to yell the words but it only came out as a croaked whisper. "Wh-where am I?" He stumbled again and he used the edge of a nearby dresser to support himself.

"Home. You work for me, and as promised you get place to live. Of course you will be living with me. What's the point of having a personal assistant if they live somewhere else?"

John tried to speak but all that came out was a violent cough. He needed to get out of here, away from this mad man. He could barely stand, let alone walk though.

"You should lay back down. How about some tea?"

"You…you are insane!" John managed to sputter out. The taller man was right though, he needed to lay back down. With effort he made it back to the bed and collapsed in an unceremonious heap.

Sherlock smirked. "You may very well be correct. However, I have been taking care of you since you were released from captivity. A week has gone by since your interview." He left the bedroom and went to the kitchen to start some tea.

A week? Christ. John was uncertain when he would be able to escape this place. He needed to get his strength back before he could attempt fleeing, calling the Yard and having this man arrested.

After the tea was brewed, Sherlock returned to the room with a tray and two cups filled with the steaming liquid. "Here, perhaps this will help calm you down. I'm sure you have a lot questions. Usually I wouldn't entertain such a boring conversation but I want to make sure you still want the job."

John eyed the cup of tea suspiciously and then looked up to Sherlock. Still want the job? Fuck no; he didn't want to work for a crazy person.

"Oh for God's sake, it isn't poisoned. If I wanted to kill you John, I would have done it. Now drink already."

John supposed that was a valid point and he took a tentative sip. It didn't have a funny taste so he took another drink. The liquid felt good on his dry, sore throat. "Why would I want to work for a man who had me kidnapped and tortured?"

The smirk returned to Sherlock's lip. "I needed to make sure I could trust you. I figured you could handle the torture, since were a POW. I realize you were probably just being stubborn when you answered 'yes' but, you never begged or pleaded for your life. For anything. I need a man like you John."

John's eyes narrowed at the words spoken. A test. It had all been a bloody test. "I'm glad you feel like you can trust me, but how am I supposed to trust you?"

"The job doesn't require that you trust me, only that I trust you." Sherlock gave a slight shrug and finally began drinking his cup of tea.

"And what does working for you entail?" John couldn't believe he was asking this question. The tea was actually quite good and he continued to drink it.

So, he was interested in working for him after everything. Why ask such a question, otherwise? Sherlock smirked, pleased. "A lot of different things. My brother and I work for the British government. I need someone I can count on. You would be helping to save lives, if that matters to you."

"Of course it does, it is one of the reasons I joined the military. Doesn't it matter to you?" This other man was infuriatingly complex to John.

"Not really. The position I hold can't really allow to me care. It isn't advantage." Sherlock shrugged again.

Insane or not, John had made up his mind. "Fine, I'll work for you." What did that say about his own sanity? By agreeing to work with Sherlock?

"Really? Why?" This had been easier than Sherlock thought it would be, and he smirked into his cup of tea as he took another drink.

"To show you that caring isn't a bad thing." John had finished his tea and he placed the empty cup on the tray.

"Don't bother. You would just be wasting our time," Sherlock commented with a shake of his head.

"People can change," John insisted.

"Only if they want to," Sherlock countered.

"Has anyone ever told you, you are impossible?" John asked, his face crinkled in mixture of frustration and amusement.

"Almost everyone I meet, yes." Sherlock smirked yet again.

"Why am I not surprised?" John muttered as his eyes closed, sleep over taking him once more.

The smirk on his lips got bigger. "Should have trusted you're instincts John. I did drug your tea, only to make you sleep because you were being stubborn about it. Yes, I think you will work out just fine." Sherlock left the bedroom and went to check on the results of an experiment.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Originally this was just meant as a one hot, but I was asked by several people to keep this story going. This won't be one fluid story, each chapter will be a one shot. Not sure how long this will end up being or how often it will get updated but when I think of something new, I will be sure to post it!

* * *

"You are late." Sherlock didn't look up from the paper work at his desk. He was chewing on the top of a pen thoughtfully.

"Excuse me? I'm late? _Late?_" John's voice hitched an octave higher as he slammed the objects in his hands down onto the messy desk.

"Yes. As in tardy. Not on time." Sherlock still didn't look up from his desk. He frowned at the discarded items. "I hope for your sake nothing is broken."

"Yes! I know what 'late' means. I am not a child. I don't need to be told the meaning of a word from primary school! The only reason I'm _late_ is because before leaving the flat this morning you asked me to run errands for you before coming into work!" John was clearly exasperated and he was leaning on the desk confrontationally.

Sherlock put down his pen and reached across and examined the new objects on his desk. "How you spend your free time before work isn't my problem. Don't be late again."

"You're kidding right? You know what. Forget it. I can't work for someone like you! I quit!" John leaned up off the desk and began walking out of the room.

Quit? No. That wasn't allowed. Sherlock finally looked up from his desk. "You can't quit. I won't let you."

John spun around. "Let me? _Let me?_ Sherlock this is me leaving and there is _nothing_ you can do about it."

Sherlock frowned. "Would you stop repeating everything I say in that high pitched voice of yours? It is very irritating. Now. What can I do to convince to stay?"

"Is it? _Irritating _you say? You know what would _convince_ me to stay? If I can punch you in the face." John walked back up to the desk, eyes narrowed.

"Oh that's clever and not at all childish. That is just bloody brilliant. Come again? You want to punch me in the face? Whatever for?" Sherlock seemed truly perplexed by the request.

"Yes, well since reasoning with you like an adult doesn't seem to work I thought I would bring myself down to your level so you could understand. And are you serious? After the hell you put me through? You deserve more than a punch in the face." John was seething now, his hands gripping the desk so tight his knuckles turned white.

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "You are still upset about that? I said I was _sorry_."

"Sorry? You think _sorry_ cuts it?" John continued to glare at the other man across from him.

"You are doing it again. Will punching me really make this stupid argument end?" Sherlock stood up from his desk and moved to stand in front of John.

"Wait? You're really going to let me punch you?" It was John's turn to be confused.

"I am a very busy and important man. If it ends this ridiculous dispute then so be it. Come on, maybe you will even feel better." Sherlock stood in front of John at ease, hands resting behind his back.

"No fun if you let me," John muttered as his hostile posture relaxed marginally.

"Does this mean you aren't quitting?" Sherlock asked hopefully, his eyebrows rising slightly.

"I thought you said I would be helping you with your work. Your personal assistant, not your slave. So far all I have done for you in the last few days is run errands for you and other tasks you are perfectly capable of performing." John was becoming agitated again and he began pacing the floor.

"I never said anything of the sort. That was your _assumption_," Sherlock replied mildly. This conversation was starting to bore him. He didn't have time. "Fine. Quit. I will find someone else."

"Find someone else? You really think _anyone_ wants to work for you?" John stopped his pacing and stood in front of the taller man.

"You did, even after what happened. I am sure I can find someone else." Sherlock shrugged his slender shoulders.

"I would like to see you try." John had a smug smile on his face as his arms crossed over his chest.

"Fine! " Sherlock shouted, his bottom lip puckering in a pout.

"Fine!" John stalked out of the office.

"John! Wait!" Sherlock ran after the former army doctor.

John smirked in triumphant and didn't bother to hide it as he turned around to face the taller man. "Yes?"

"Don't quit. Stay." Sherlock wasn't one to beg, but the other man had been right. Who else would he be able to find to work for him?

"Admit it." John's smirk got bigger.

Confusion crossed Sherlock's features. "What am I admitting to?"

"That you need me. That you wouldn't be able to find anyone else." John stood proudly, knowing he had Sherlock.

"It isn't that. It would just take forever to find someone else," Sherlock muttered.

"Excuse me? What was that? I didn't quite hear you." John leaned forward for emphasis.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. I need you, okay? You are right. I wouldn't be able to find anyone else."

"Now, ask me stay. Politely." John knew he was pressing his luck now, but he just couldn't help himself.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Sherlock grumbled.

"Try again." The smirk returned to John's face.

"John. Don't quit, please." Sherlock was getting annoyed now. He was going to need a cigarette very soon.

"Thank you. Now, I am going to go get lunch." John smiled and gave Sherlock a pat on the shoulder patronizingly.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Don't ever do that again," he warned with a dangerous growl.

"Fair enough. We are in no way even, but we are getting there." John gave a tight smile and turned to leave.

Sherlock hesitated before speaking. "Bring me something back? I haven't eaten in a few days."

"We could always just go together," John commented as he paused in mid step.

"Can't. I have to take a call with some political official from some country that I don't care about." Sherlock shrugged.

"Fine. I will bring something back, _only _if you ask nicely." John had finally had enough of taking Sherlock's shit and had decided to push back. So far, it was working out rather well.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" Sherlock gave a faint smirk. "Fine. John, will you please get me something to eat while you are out?"

John smiled. "I am quite enjoying this, but you had it coming all things considered. And yes, of course. I would be more than happy to bring you back some food. What would you like?"

Sherlock dropped his head and shook it to hide the smile on his lips. No one had ever challenged him like that before in his entire life. No one would dare to, he was a Holmes. He had indeed chosen wisely. "Whatever. It doesn't matter to me. I will eat pretty much anything."

"Any food allergies I should know about?" John may be a this man's personal assistant now, but he would always be a doctor first and foremost.

"No, not that I know of. And John." Sherlock lifted his head to meet the other man's gaze. "Thank you."

John smirked and nodded. He turned and left the office, feeling rather accomplished for the day.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note:

I don't know. Short chapter. I am trying to come up with ideas for chapters but struggling. Not sure how much longer I will keep this going. Not many people seem to be reading it anyway.

* * *

_Why aren't you at work? – SH_

_You told me I could have the day off. – JW_

_I did? – SH_

_Yes. – JW_

_Well, I don't remember saying you could. Come in. – SH_

_No. – JW_

_Why not? – SH_

_I have plans. – JW_

_Doing what? – SH_

_I have a date. – JW_

_Don't waste your time John. – SH_

_What the hell is that supposed to mean? – JW_

_You have been working for me three months now and since then have dated over thirty woman. That's more than a woman a month. – SH_

_This one could work out to be long term. – JW_

_Don't kid yourself. You aren't 'long term' relationship material. – SH_

_I'm done texting you. – JW_

_I've upset you, haven't I? – SH_

_What was your first clue? – JW_

_I thought you said you were done texting me. – SH_

_Shut up. – JW_

_Technically I'm not speaking right now. – SH_

_I hate you. – JW_

_You are just mad because I am right. Again. – SH_

_I still hate you. – JW_

_We both know that isn't true. If it was, you would have quit working for me long ago. – SH_

_What is it with your need to win every argument? – JW_

_Nothing. I am just always right. – SH_

_No you aren't. – JW_

_Name one time I have been wrong. – SH_

_I have a date I need to get ready for. – JW_

_You can't think of one can you? – SH_

_Quit bothering me. – JW_

_It isn't my fault if you keep texting back. – SH_

_I'm serious this time. Last text. – JW_

_We'll see about that. – SH_

_Three hours later…_

_You were right. – JW_

_I always am. What did I get right this time? – SH_

_About the date being a waste of time. – JW_

_Oh that. What happened? – SH_

_Since when do you care? – JW_

_I don't. I was trying to be polite. – SH_

_Okay. Out with it Sherlock. What did you want? – JW_

_Since your date didn't work out, will you come into the office for the rest of the day? – SH_

_This is my day off. – JW_

_What else do you have to do? – SH_

_Nothing. – JW_

_Then why won't you come in? – SH_

_It's my day off. – JW_

_But you aren't doing anything. At least if you come into work you will have something to do. – SH_

_You have something going on that you don't want to do, don't you? And you want to try and pass it off to me. – JW_

_I would never do that. – SH_

_Yes you would. You do it all the time. – JW_

_Well, you are my personal assistant. – SH_

_Tell me what it is that you want and I then I'll decide whether or not I'll come in. – JW_

_Just forget it. – SH_

_Are you pouting? – JW_

_Several minutes go by…_

_Sherlock? – JW_

When Sherlock failed to reply to his previous texts, John tried calling. It went to voicemail. He sighed, walked downstairs, went outside and hailed a taxi. The cabbie dropped him off outside of the office building he worked out of and he took the elevator up to the floor where Sherlock's workplace was. "Is everything okay?" He asked as soon as he walked into his boss' office.

"Good you came," Sherlock said, ignoring the question asked of him.

"What do you mean?" John wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"I knew you would come if I just ignored you. That you would be worried." Sherlock turned to look at John with a smirk.

"You lured me here?" Leave it to Sherlock to annoy him in less than a minute into a conversation.

"How else was I going to convince you to come into work?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Could have just asked," John muttered.

"I did. Twice," Sherlock pointed out.

"Right," John muttered more to himself. "Fine. Since I am here, what is so bloody important?"

"Will you take this file down to my brother's office?" Sherlock picked up a folder from his desk and offered it to John.

"You are kidding me, right?" John asked in disbelief.

"No. It is very important. Can't just very well give it to anyone to deliver it." Sherlock seemed to be very serious about the contents of the folder.

"Why can't you take it to your brother yourself?" John half suspected he knew the answer already.

"I don't want to get out of my chair. It is rather comfortable." Sherlock continued to hold out the folder to John, shaking it slightly as he became impatient.

John snatched the folder with a glare and a grumble. "I really do hate you."

"We've already discussed that John," Sherlock replied with a bored expression.

John muttered and left the office. So much for a day off.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

This is actually based off a weird dream I had about Sherlock and I tweaked it a bit to fit this for the story. Bit different from other chapters. First half is from Sherlock's POV and second half from John's. I am glad there people reading and enjoying this. Thank you so much for the reviews!

* * *

Searing pain. Blood. Lots of blood. Hard to breathe. Hard to think. To focus. Sherlock had been shot. Things hadn't gone as planned at all. Was this how he was going to die? He was slumped against a wall, breathing shallowly. Phone. Text. John. John was a doctor. He could help. He fumbled with the phone in his coat pocket. His hands were slick with his own blood but he managed to get cell phone out and even get a message typed out.

_Phone. Triangulate. GPS. – SH_

With any luck John would figure that out. It wasn't really hard in his opinion but Sherlock was having a hard time thinking let alone forming coherent sentences. He needed to stay focused and figure out what had gone wrong. He thought back to what had led him to his point.

_**Earlier that day…**_

"John, clear my schedule. I have an important appointment for the day and I don't want anything to interrupt it." Sherlock walked out of his office and into the office that was adjacent to his.

With raised eyebrows John glanced up to Sherlock. "What 'important appointment' would that be? This is the first I have heard of it."

"It is none of your business," Sherlock replied brusquely.

John narrowed his eyes. "I thought you trusted me."

Sherlock scowled and matched John's glare. "It isn't work related. It's personal. If it will get me off my back, take the rest of the day off."

"The last time you said I could have a day off, you called me back into work. How do I know this will be any different?" John continued to glare at the taller man.

"Just take the rest of the God damned day off, all right. Don't bother me the rest of the day! No calls. No texts. _Nothing_. I probably won't be home until late or possibly not at all." Sherlock stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him in a childish fit.

With a growl of annoyance Sherlock left the office building and hailed a cabbie, preferring not to take the black car his personal driver had. Not for where he was going. Soon he would be fine. More than fine. It had been awhile, a little over a year now. Right around the time he had met John. God, how had he gone without for so long? He leaned his head against the seat rest and closed his eyes, until the vehicle came to a stop.

Sherlock paid the driver and got out of taxi. He was in an unsavory side of town. Filled with criminals, graffiti and all together unpleasant place to be in. He didn't fit in here by any means and people tended to avoid him, probably figured he was from the Yard or something. Not that he really cared, he liked keeping to himself.

He turned a corner into an alleyway that smelled of urine and stale blood. It was nauseating but he had dealt with worse and he sucked it up. Sherlock glanced at his wristwatch. It shouldn't be too much longer now. His foot began tapping in impatience and annoyance.

"Why if it isn't a Holmes and on this side of town nonetheless."

"Shut it," Sherlock growled as he turned around to face The Weasel, a street name obviously, who had just approached him. "Do you have it?"

"Of course." The Weasel smirked unpleasantly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cloth wrapped around a needle and handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock reached into his coat for his wallet. Oh no. Where the hell was it? John. He had given it to the former army doctor to go buy supplies for the office. Shit. Not good. "I seem to have forgot my wallet."

"You trying to be funny? Cuz I ain't laughing pretty boy." The Weasel got in his face with a sneer, his hand reaching behind him.

"Look. You know I'm good for it. I'll just pay you later."

"Like hell you will." The Weasel withdrew a pistol and pointed at Sherlock's stomach. "Give it back or get shot. Those are your options."

Give it back? No. He had just gotten it. Just thinking about the fix mad him crazy with need. His hands began to shake, but it wasn't from fear. Sherlock didn't want to relinquish the heroin but he really didn't have any other option. With his hands still shaking, he offered it the man holding him at gun point. This bastard would pay for pulling a gun on him later.

The Weasel took it from Sherlock roughly and with a snarl.

Sherlock was ill tempered by nature and he was craving an addiction. Drug addicts rarely think clearly when they need a hit and now was exception. He grabbed at the hand holding the gun carelessly.

They fought for control before it went off. Fuck. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Sherlock slumped into the side of chipped, brick building.

The Weasel fled the scene immediately, not realizing he had dropped the needle in the struggle.

Shit. Why wasn't John here yet? If he was going to die, he should be able to at least enjoy his last few minutes, right? Sherlock crawled over to the needle, it was a slow and painful process, despite it being only a few feet away. His hands were still shaking and his fingers were slick with blood, it made it damn near impossible to grasp the small item. He finally lost the battle for consciousness and passed out.

* * *

John was in a foul mood. It was all Sherlock's fault. The git had stormed out of his office like some child throwing a tantrum. On top of that, the bastard had slammed the door shut to _his office_. He sighed in frustration, gathered up his things and left work.

With no plans and too pissed off to go anywhere anyway, John just went to the flat. Tea would be lovely. It always had a calming effect on him. Once it was ready, he sipped it slowly and sunk into his over sized chair. The flat was quiet. It was kind of disturbing and unsettling. Usually Sherlock was talking to himself, playing the violin, or almost blowing something up in the kitchen. Now there was no background noise. He sighed and turned on the telly. He didn't want to watch whatever was on, he just needed some sort of sound.

His cell phone buzzed to life. John narrowed his eyes when he saw that the message from Sherlock. He almost threw the phone across the room in anger but then he thought of a better plan. He was going to give Sherlock a piece of his mind. He opened the message, a frown quickly forming on his lips.

Well, that couldn't be good. Even though John couldn't hear Sherlock's tone of voice, he had could tell it was sent with urgency. He immediately called Mycroft. He didn't get on with him at all but it was the only thing he could think to do right now.

"What? This better be important."

"It's Sherlock. I think he may in some sort of trouble. Could you have your people locate him through the GPS on his mobile?"

"My little brother is _always_ in some sort of trouble. What makes this so important?"

"Just _do it_," John ground out through clenched teeth.

"Fine. I'll text you the location. After that, leave me out of his stupid affairs."

John muttered darkly as he terminated the call. He rushed down the stairs and outside. He didn't have to wait long for the text. He flagged down a cabbie and gave the address. Something was wrong and suddenly he wasn't upset about the row they'd had at the office. He decided to try and text Sherlock.

_On my way. What happened? – JW_

The lack of response after a few minutes was even more worrisome. John tried calling next. Voicemail. "Shit," he muttered to no one but himself. The ride felt like it took forever but it was probably due to feeling so anxious. Once the taxi came to stop, he threw money at the driver over paying and jumped out. "Sherlock!" Still no answer.

John didn't see him anywhere in the immediate vicinity. After only few moments of searching he found the alley way. "Oh God!" He ran over to Sherlock's body. "You idiot," he growled at the unconscious form. He rolled his boss over. Things were worse than he thought. The other man had lost a lot of blood. He jumped into action quickly, his training in the military as a doctor kicking in immediately. "Come on you stubborn git, don't die on me. As much as you annoy me, I need you." The admission shocked him but he didn't have time to analyze what he'd just said.

John pulled out his cell phone and called for the emergency services, the needle catching his eye. With a shake of his head, he picked it up and shoved it into his pocket. No one needed to know why Sherlock had come here. It was his job to keep his boss interests _his_. All he could do now was wait, the sirens screaming louder as they got closer.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

Short chapter. Just a drabble I came up while bored.

* * *

A couple of weeks ago had been quite the scare. Sherlock was still recovering, although he was being stubborn about it. Bed rest didn't seem to be a term the man understood. John was getting frustrated with his employer. "You need to stay in bed as much as possible. You lost a lot of blood when you got shot. It is a miracle you are even still alive."

Sherlock grumbled as he tried to brush past John. "I should be working, not moping around at the flat. Now get out of my way, that's an order."

John tensed, eyes narrowing. "I'm no longer in the military and even if I was, you are a civilian. You don't get to say that to me ever. I don't care that you are my boss. Now, back to bed with you. Doctor's orders."

"You aren't my doctor." Sherlock coughed violently and ended up slumping into John for support. Christ. He was still weak. He didn't like having to rely on someone else to take care of him. "Fine. Just for a little while."

John supported the lanky frame with ease. He helped Sherlock back to the bed and then sat down in a that he placed near the bed. "You signed the papers to be released into my care, so yes I am your doctor."

Sherlock closed his eyes, but not to sleep. He was just trying to relax. "If anyone from the Yard comes around to see me, tell them I'm not taking any visitors."

"I already spoke to them. A bloke by the name of Lestrade, he's a Detective Inspector." John shrugged a bit. He didn't want t elaborate. Not right now. Maybe when Sherlock was a bit better.

"I know of him." Sherlock opened his eyes and turned to look at John. "What did you tell him?"

Well shit. John hesitated for a moment. "I told him you had set up a sting for an arms dealer, but that I couldn't divulge anything specific because the rest was classified. I don't think he believed me but your brother showed up. The two talked privately. I think Mycroft may know him."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "You lied to the Yard for me?" He shrugged. "Yes, my brother has connections everywhere. Just another lackey to do his bidding."

John decided not to comment on the question. "I do your bidding. Does that make me your lackey?" Good. Change the subject.

Sherlock smirked slightly. "No. You are an assistant, there is a difference. You actually have intelligence. Well, for an ordinary person."

John returned the smirk. He knew that in Sherlock's own way he had just been paid a compliment.

"Why did you lie for me?" No one had ever done that for him before and Sherlock wanted to try and understand it.

Back to that again. It shouldn't come as a surprise really, Sherlock was a stubborn man. John sighed. "I found a needle next to you. The Yard didn't need to know why you were really there. As you pointed out, I am your assistant. It is my job to keep you and your interests safe. It's why you hired me, isn't it?"

Oh. John knew then, but he appreciated the loyalty. Sherlock nodded, the faintest of smiles touching his lips.

Silence. Sherlock wasn't denying it then. "How long have you been addict?"

"I'm not an addict," Sherlock snapped back.

John snorted. "Right. Clearly."

"Even if I was, it isn't any of your business." Sherlock glared at John and turned away from the other man, his bottom lip puckering out in a pout.

John sighed. "I just want to help."

"I don't need or want help from you or anybody!" Sherlock kept his back to John.

John couldn't help Sherlock if the other man didn't want it. "Fine, but need I remind you that you got shot and almost bled to death for a drug fix?"

Sherlock muttered something incoherent.

"You are an impossible child." John had enough, he got up to leave.

"Four years," Sherlock muttered but still didn't turn to look at John.

"Good, that is a start. Now, we will work on rehabilitation once you are back to your usual grumpy and annoying self." First Sherlock needed to recover from the gunshot wound and then they could concentrate on getting his boss of drugs. John sat back in the chair, sighing quietly to himself.

Sherlock rolled back over, a smirk grudgingly etching his lips. "Fine," he muttered like a child.

"See. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" John couldn't help but grin.

"Don't push your luck, Doctor." Sherlock tried to glare at John, but instead another smirk tugged at his lips.

"It would seem you are well on your way there. Now, if I could only get you to take your bed rest seriously." John checked his watch. It was almost time for Sherlock's round of medication.

"I don't need bed rest. I just don't want to hear you harp me." Despite the stubborn front Sherlock was putting on, he stayed curled in bed. He didn't want to admit it, but trying to walk or any other form of movement really was painful.

"Mmmhmm, yeah I can see that. It'll be time to take your meds soon and whether you like it or not, they'll make you sleep." John reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the appropriate bottles of medication. "Here. Water is next to you."

"Don't want them. I don't need bed rest," Sherlock repeatedly stubbornly.

"Take the God damned pills Sherlock." John was beginning to lose his patience.

"Fine," Sherlock growled and with effort sat up. Shit that had hurt more than he thought it would. He snatched the pills, popped them in his mouth and swallowed them dry. He made a face at the taste and slouched back down into the bed to get a little more comfortable.

John watched Sherlock with a slight frown. It was obvious the other man was in pain, but it wouldn't do any good to try and help or comment on it. It would just make Sherlock even more insufferable.

It didn't take long for the medication to work. Sherlock mumbled something about being tired, before his eyes slipped closed and he gave into a much needed sleep.

John sighed in relief. Maybe he could get some sleep himself. He leaned back in the chair a bit and also fell asleep.


End file.
